— Four years ago —
Ophelia’s POV:
I stuffed the oversized navy hoodie into my school bag, my movements frantic as I yanked the zipper shut. I took a shaky step back, eyes darting toward the door, ready to vanish before a single soul caught me here.
God, I was insane. My pulse was frantic. Why had I even done this? Why was I risking a suspension or, worse, Damon’s cutting fury for a piece of fleece?
It was Marcy’s taunt. That sharp, jagged needle she’d been driving into my skin all morning.
“Some sister you are,” she’d sneered in the hallway, her voice a poisonous honey. She had clutched the hem of a thick, grey sweater—one I recognized instantly—and leaned in close so only I could hear. “You think I don’t see the way you look at my boyfriend? It’s pathetic, Ophelia.” She’d laughed, cr
